


wanting nothing, needing something

by AnnaStachia



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Drogon is a good boy who loves his mom, Fix-It of Sorts, More tags to be added, Season 8 Spoilers, are you tired of fix it fics yet, extrapolating on danys character after that episode oof, i'm not, it needs some fixing, post 8x05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:55:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaStachia/pseuds/AnnaStachia
Summary: Daenerys finds herself in the throne room afterward, facing the consequences of her actions. How will she move forward? How will everyone else.--My attempt to get inside Dany's head and try to make sense of the mess that was 8x05.





	wanting nothing, needing something

**Author's Note:**

> Boy oh boy. Another sort of fix-it, wish fulfillment story. I've seen the leaks, and this is my avoiding what's to come hopefully. Nothing in the leaks was really included in this fic, so no spoilers for the last episode. I just need some solid therapeutic writing after spending all night festering about the episode.

She doesn’t know how long she’d been on the back of Drogon when her mind clears. It must have been hours the way her muscles ache through the numb beginning to settle into her legs. However long it’s been, it’s a blur to her, a haze of fog. Or maybe of smoke she realizes as the familiar acrid burning fills her lungs. It doesn’t bother her the way it would most, but she feels like she can’t breathe all the same. 

Drogon is curled up in the ruins of some great building, and he lets out a tired breath laying his head down on the cracked marbled floor.  Daenerys slide off his back, and almost stumbles as her legs remember how to hold her weight once more. A feeling of dread washes over her as she glances around at the small fires still burning, the ash falling from the sky. She can hear the crackling of flames from near and far.

She falls to her knees after a step as it all hits her at once. She doesn’t remember, can’t recall with any clarity, but she knows. She knows what she did. The horror and destruction she must have wrought. Tears well up in her eyes, but she closes them not letting herself succumb to despair welling up inside her.

Daenerys pushes herself to her feet, the ash coating her body now, her clothing beginning to blend with her hair. Half the ceiling has caved in, chunks of it lying scattered around the room, but the steps are still intact. And the throne at the top of them.

Once more her breath catches as the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms sets her eyes on the iron throne for the first time. Her throne. She takes several steps toward it, her stride growing more and more sure as she makes her way to her birthright. Three steps from the top, she stops her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress.

It’s not her birthright, not anymore. Her entire claim to the throne has been snatched away from her from the moment Jon told her he was Rhaegar’s true son. Her nephew, the man she loved, and the man who would steal the throne from her. Her vision blurs for a moment as the hate and anger of betrayal cloud her mind once more. Everything she has worked for over the last several years, meaningless. Her entire life’s purpose, meaningless. For she hadn’t had purpose until she stepped from those flames with her children.

Drogon shifting behind her, his tail sweeping through the ash brings her back to the present, and the throne before her and the red rage begins to fade once again. She tries to shake away the echo of bells tolling.

She finishes her way up the steps standing in front of the throne of swords. Here she is, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains. Conqueror of King’s Landing, and Queen of the ashes. Everything she tried to avoid she achieved. She succeeded, won the fight, the people will fear her now. They won’t question her rule, not with Drogon at her side.

There isn’t anyone in the seven kingdoms who can stop her. Not Cersei Lannister and the Kingslayer, not Euron Greyjoy and his iron fleet, not the scorpion ballistae that killed one of her remaining children, not Varys protector of the realms, not even Jon Snow the foolishly good true king of the iron throne.

This is her moment, and she should feel proud and victorious. Instead she feels sick and hateful. She runs her fingers along the arm, leaving a clean streak through the ash dusted over it. Turning around, she moves to sit in the throne, her throne, her purpose in life. She’s almost seated when movement catches her attention.

Her eyes lock onto a figure moving into the room, scrambling into the room. A small figure, she could tell it was a child. A little boy with dark hair covered in ash and dust. Drogon also sees this boy, and stirs from his rest launching himself in the child’s direction.

“Drogon, no!” Daenerys yells standing from the throne.

The child falls backwards wimpering as the dragon’s face comes mere inches from his, the rows of teeth the same size as him. Daenerys hurries down the steps relieved to see that the boy is fine. Drogon sniffs in his direction then turns to look back at her. Not many can understand the looks that dragons give but Dany always has. He’s disappointed he can’t eat the kid, and he’s hungry.

“Are you alright?” The boy shifts his eyes from the dragon to Dany and back to the dragon. None of his fear diminishes.

“You don’t have to worry. He won’t hurt you.”  _ Not unless I ask him to. _ The phrase finishes automatically in her head, but she bites it back.

“P-Papa…” the boy wimpers, sobs starting to wrack his frame now that the initial shock and fear has begun to wane. “Papa… Papa! Papa!”

That feeling in the pit of Dany’s stomach makes itself known again, clawing its way toward her heart. She kneels down next to the child, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder, but stops short. “I’m sure your papa is fine. He’s probably out there somewhere, looking for you. What’s your name?”

For the first time since she’s come to her senses she wishes she weren’t alone right now. That any of the unsullied or dothraki were with her. She can’t leave to help this boy find his father, not that his father is alive. She’s not stupid enough to believe that. If someone were with her, they could take him out of here, and then she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. A stark reminder of the devastation she knows lies beyond these crumbled walls.

The boy shakes his head, his entire body shaking. He lifts a scrawny arm and points at Drogon, “Papa!” Then at her. “Papa”

Dany’s heart stops as she sees the recognition in his eyes. There’s terror, and grief, but also recognition, and hatred. He saw his father die, and he saw her behind it, astride Drogon. The mad dragon queen who killed an innocent man in front of his child. Thousands of innocent men. And women, and children.

“Queen Daenerys!”

The thick Valyrian accent echoes through what remains of the throne room, and Dany pushes the thoughts about to consume her aside. She stands, finding Greyworm coming toward her. Relief floods through her for the first time. At least someone came through this ordeal. At least one of her friends survived, someone who still believed in her. He did, right? He had wanted this just as much as she had, right?

She allows a smile and hurries towards him. He’s never been the hugging type. Most of his affection was learned from Missandei, and he might never be affectionate again now. That doesn’t stop Daenerys from throwing her arms around him as she reaches him. Will he put a spear in her back? Doubtful. The  thought is there, but easily dismissed. The unsullied are loyal. They understand her, what she stands for, what she did for them. Greyworm has been one of her closest advisors, and he has lost just as much as she has.

Slowly he puts a stiff arm around her in return, before stepping back, back to business. She lets him go, recovering her own formality and looks at him expectantly.

_ “My Queen, the city belongs to you. The enemy forces have been defeated, the people defeated. Justice is brought to King’s Landing and the Lannisters.” _

_ “And Cersei?” _ she inquires, drawing on all her experience to keep her composure. His words hit her harder than she expected. The people are defeated. She hadn’t been here to defeat the people, but it’s exactly what she’s done.

_ “No one has found her yet, but we will search until her body is destroyed or I can run my spear through her myself.” _ He tries to school his face, to keep the anger and grief from showing, but he isn’t emotionless anymore.

_ “Good _ .”

There’s a beat, and she hears the child behind her. She hears his sobbing subside somewhat. She hears him scramble back out of the throne room. She remembers the hatred and recognition in his eyes. What if he grows up to kill her one day? She shouldn’t let him escape. She knows just how vengeance can drive a person. Vengeance is what killed that boys father, and now it may be her own undoing. The cycle.  _ The wheel _ , she thinks.

The sick, empty feeling is starting to spread. She can’t keep it contained, covered up. She can’t keep pushing it down and denying it. She steps toward the throne, up the steps less assuredly than she had before. This time she does settle into, hunched over a hand covering her mouth. Queen Daenerys’ first act in the iron throne is to lean over the side and puke on the floor next to it.  _ The Queen of Ashes and Bile _ , she thinks wryly, wiping her mouth.

_ “There is one more thing.” _ Greyworm says, approaching the steps, and stopping the appropriate distance below. His next words are in the common tongue, “Jon Snow called his forces to retreat as we advanced our attack. He ran with his men.”

Dany closes her eyes. Thinking about Jon is painful in so many ways. In a way Jon is a complete betrayal to everything she ever stood for, everything she ever wanted. Her throne was his, her people were his, her love was his, and his wasn’t her’s. Jon Snow is a man of his word, and that’s what kept his loyal. Not out of love for her, not anymore. Certainly not now.

She pushes that pain down for the moment. She can deal with it later. Love, has never truly been in the cards for her. She doesn’t need love to be queen. Many have loved her, and most have perished, and she still stands, upon the iron throne.

“Jon Snow is a traitor. Even if he doesn’t know it yet, he will be. They won’t let him be anything else.”

She can picture it. Jon trying to make excuses, Jon trying to find justification for Dany’s actions. Daenerys knows there’s no justification for what she did, none that will satisfy any of them. She took what was her’s, and she took it with fire and blood, the way she always has.

His sisters will rally around him. Sansa Stark will tell him how she knew it all along, how Daenerys was never to be trusted. She’ll tell Jon he should have never pledged himself to her, never loved her. The northmen will do the same. They’ll support their King in the North whether he wants it or not. Sansa will use this as an excuse to tell the world who Jon really is, to discredit Daenerys’ claim and put Jon on the throne. And the seven kingdoms will flock to him.

She feels sick once more, but manages to swallow the bile back down. She will not be sick over Jon Snow, not now.

“Daenerys…”

She sits up straighter, gripping at the arm of the throne for support, at the familiar voice, as Tyrion slowly makes his way into the throne room. Like everyone he is also covered in ash, but otherwise seemingly unhurt. At least physically. His eyes are red and swollen as if he’s been crying. Her glare nearly stops him in his tracks, but he continues his cautious approach. He walks as a man who knows he’s already dead. Good.

“What do you have to say?” Her keeps her tone even and cold as he stops at the top of the steps.

He takes a moment to just regard her in the iron throne. She wonders what is going through his mind right now. Is he glad to see her here? The queen he chose to advice, to put his faith in sits upon the throne they are here to claim. This is a victory for them both. But no, she imagine’s that’s not what he feels. It’s not even what she feels.

She did the one thing he asked her not to. She doesn’t need to go out and see the ruins of King’s Landing to know that, even if she can’t recall it. She let him down, she let them all down. Most of all she let herself down. She’ll never be able to add Destroyer of the Wheel to her many titles now.

Tyrion drops to his knees, bowing his head low, almost touching the ground. “Forgive me, My Queen. I have failed you. I have failed myself, I have failed the people, and most of all I have failed you.”

He’s crying again, Dany can hear it in his voice. “And how have you failed me this time?” The calm composure she’s been trying to maintain is getting harder to keep under control, as her thoughts continue to spiral. Tyrion isn’t the only failure in this room right now, and that notion grows stronger with every passing moment.

He winces at her words, but presses forward. “I should never have let this happen. It should never have come to this. I should have worked harder to make sure it never got this far. I should have done more to--”

“To stop me?” Dany finishes for him. He looks up at her then, meeting her icy stare. Usually so full of fire and passion, she’s gone cold, and calm. “What about this is a failure to you? Here I sit, on the iron throne. My birthright. My enemies are defeated. I have taken what is mine with fire and blood as I always promised I would.”

She wishes desperately that she believed the words as she spoke them, that her greatest victory didn’t feel like her biggest mistake. That it didn’t feel like all her greatest achievements were behind her in Essos. Going forward from here felt like damnation, but she couldn’t go back.

“Yes, you did. And now you rule over ash and corpses.” The sharp glare she gives him has him looking at the cracked floor again.

“There are survivors. We will rebuild.”She hopes the words don’t sound as empty as they feel.

“The people won’t love you.”

Daenerys grits her teeth. She didn’t need the reminder. It’s all she’s been able to think about since the Night King’s defeat. The people don’t love her. She’s not one of them. She was born here, a princess and because, because what. Her brother couldn’t be open about the fact that he fell in love with another woman, that Robert Baratheon couldn’t take being slighted by his prince, she was shipped away across the sea as a baby.

Now here she is the “foreign” queen here to steal the throne with her savage hordes and eunuch armies. They would have never looked at her as anything other than the foreign invader, bringing all of their worst nightmares onto their shores.

“I don’t need them to love me.” She states, lips tight.

“The you--” Tyrion cuts himself off immediately.

“Say it.” Dany demands. He says nothing. “Say. It.” He still says nothing. “That I’m no different from Cersei. From my father. The people were never going to love me. I see that now. So what difference does it make?”

“There’s the North as well” he points out, falling back into Hand of the Queen mode.”Sansa knows Jon’s true heritage, and she won’t stand for this. She will rally the north,the Vale to him, whether he wants it or not and they will stand against you.”

“Then I will burn them too.”

She remembers Jorah telling to her to try and make peace with Sansa Stark. She tried, honestly even. She wanted to get along with Jon’s sisters. Sansa had made it clear she wanted nothing from her but to leave the north and leave it with them.

What Dany wouldn’t give for Jorah’s advice right now. Would he be disappointed in her? Maybe, but he’d always understood her better than anyone. He’s still be by her side and instead of blaming her for what’s happened, he’d be finding a way to help her through it and come out the other end.

“Then you will truly be the Queen of Ashes.” Tyrion tells her. “If you burn everyone and anyone who stands in your way. And their cities, and their people you will have nothing left.”

She wants to laugh and she wants to cry. Instead she just feels sick again. She stares up at the ceiling, at the smoke clouded sky visible through the cracks almost expecting two more large shadows to be swooping through it before remembering.

Dany has lost so much since coming to Westeros. She lost Viserion beyond the wall facing the dead, and then had to face him again in battle as the enemy. Seeing the Night King astride her child had been like a knife to the heart. Then she lost over half her armies to the dead. Dothraki and Unsullied who truly loved her as their queen and khaleesi.

She watched her closest friend and truest ally die in her arms while protecting her from hordes of undead. He died fighting someone else’s war, so she could go on to fight her’s. Rhaegal was shot out of the sky right in  and she can only hope Euron Greyjoy is a burnt corpse at the bottom of the ocean right now.

And Missandei. Possibly the most innocent of her advisors. Missandei’s only crime was following Daenerys and Cersei had her beheaded for it.

All her closest friends and allies dead, and for what? So she could sit on a throne and rule a people that didn’t even want her, that didn’t even love her. So she could claim some long lost birthright she’d never even seen before. And here she was, goal achieved, Queen of the seven kingdoms, Queen of ashes, everything she tried so hard not the become.

She does laugh as the irony of it all settles on her. Everything she’s done has been for nothing. Everything she’s lost has been for nothing. It’s so much funnier than it should be. Cersei would find it funny she imagines. Does the lion queen technically win now? She might be dead, but the dragon queen is a bigger joke than she was and she was sleeping with her brother.

“What am I even doing here?” She asks out loud, still giggling.

Tyrion and Greyworm glance at each other and back at her.

“I gave up everything, to get nothing. I left all the good I did in Essos to come here and what, burn it all to the ground. They’ll call me the Mad Queen now. Just like her father. They aren’t wrong. The seven kingdoms don’t need me. They don’t want me.”

She stands up chuckling, and then leans over and heaves onto the ground. Tears prick at her eyes as she continues to heave until there’s nothing left. Her stomach is no less settled.

“Dany?”

Only one person calls her ‘Dany’ anymore and she almost pukes again, would if there was anything left in her stomach. Greyworm raises his spear in Jon Snow’s direction, scowl taking over his usually emotionless features.

After a moment Daenerys composes herself, wiping her mouth and smoothing her dress.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and she can’t stand the concern in his voice. The genuine concern for Jon Snow is incapable of lying.

“Do you care?” she responds, folding her hands in front of her.

He takes a couple steps forward, “Of course I do, you’re my q--”

She holds up a hand to stop the words from leaving his mouth. “Don’t say it. I don’t  want to hear how I’m your queen. Queens and kings mean nothing I’ve come to realize. A title for some to respect and most to despise. Someone people can cast aside when they feel like someone better has come along. Who was the last good king of Westeros? It was long before either of our lifetimes.” Her chuckle is brief and dry.  It’s not funny anymore.

“You could have been a great queen.” he tells her. There’s anger and disappointment in his voice.

“Could have? You don’t think I would anymore?”

Jon’s jaw nearly drops as she asks him this question, like he can’t believe she did. It was rhetorical. She knows there’s no coming back from what she did, especially not in his eyes.

“Look around you, Dany. All this destruction was you. What happened to you up there? Why did you do it? They were surrendering.”

_ Because I could _ she wants to say. Because it was hers to destroy, because they deserved it. She wants to lash out and hurt him with her answer because she could. She could tell him that he was wrong about her all along, and that she was always the monster he now believed her to be.

His face is too earnest, his eyes too pleading. Jon Snow is the second person in her life that she ever wanted to know the real her, to believe in what she was capable of, to approve of her. That notion is gone now, but it was once true. So maybe she owes him an honest answer.

“I don’t know why I did it. But it’s done and I can’t change it.”

The answer doesn’t seem to satisfy him. “You don’t know why? You burned an entire city to the ground. Hundreds of thousands of people are dead. My sister barely escaped your warpath, and you don’t know why.”

Drogon snorts, eyeing Jon from his corner where he curled up. Jon might be of dragon blood,but Drogon won’t hesitate to put him in his place if Jon threatens his mother.

“I don’t. I barely remember it, and that’s the truth. But again, the why doesn’t matter Jon.”

She walks down the steps toward him, stopping in front of him. “Did you love me, after you found out?”

“What kind of question is that?” Her calm demeanor is putting him off, she can tell. It’s putting her off. Moments ago she was about to be hysterical, but now she’s never felt calmer.

“An honest question, which demands an honest answer. When you found out that you are my brother’s son, did you love me still? Or did you fear me, and what I might do when I found out.”

He looks like he wants to yell at her, like he wants to cry. It’s the same look he’s been giving her ever since they left Winterfell. “Of course I did. I was sure we could work things out when I told you. That you wouldn’t see me as a threat because I loved you and wanted nothing to do with that damned throne.”

“And what about now? Do you still love me now?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, followed by another, struggling to find words. Trying to find a way around hurting her, she imagines. Trying to find a way to avoid making the mad queen angry.

“I hate what you did. I hate what you seem to be becoming. But I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

She’s still eerily calm,only awaiting answers. “That’s not what I asked. Do you still love me? Can you still love me after what I’ve done. Can you still love me knowing that I’m your aunt, and you my nephew? Because that bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“It hardly matters anymore,does it? I want to hate you for what you did out there. I want to hate you for murdering innocent people once they’d surrendered. Part of me does. I am sick about what happened out there, but I don’t hate you. I still care about you. I still want you to live, and I don’t know if that’s possible anymore. I don’t know if I’m still in love with you Daenerys Stormborn, but I do still love you.”

She closes her eyes against the tears, against the relief she feels at those words. She hates that it makes her feel better. More than Jon Snow should hate her, she should hate him. He brought this loss with him when he came to her at Dragonstone, what feels like a lifetime ago.

When she opens them, only a couple tears fall, but she manages to keep herself reigned in. Taking a step back and a deep breath, she glances back at Tyrion and Greyworm watching them closely.

“Then my first act as Daenerys Stormborn the Conquorer is to name you, bastard no longer, but Aegon Targaryen the rightful heir to the throne,” she swallows trying to choke back the sobs threatening to take over as she hands over everything she’s worked toward. “Sixth of his name, King of the Andals and First Men, Protector of the living and the realms of men, blood of my blood, Blood of the Dragon. Long may you reign.”

Jon shakes his head vehemently, stalking toward her. He takes her by the arm, “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be a king, I’ve never wanted to be a king.”

More tears fall now, “It doesn’t matter. We don’t get what we want, Jon Snow. I want to be queen, I’ve always wanted to be queen and that’s never going to happen. So you get to be King, because it’s your birthright and because the people love you whether you want them to or not.”

He moves his hand from grabbing her, to resting on her arm, sliding up to cup her face. She pulls back, but not very far. She just needs to get this over with, and it’s already starting to fall apart.

“What about you?” he asks, making sure to look her in the eyes, “You make me king, they’ll want me to execute you. I don’t want that.”

Dany manages to find a wry smile, “You’ll have to find me first.”

“What?”

She almost pulls away right there, almost walks away from him. Instead she leans up for one last kiss, hoping against hope that he’ll return it. Just this once, for the last time. And he almost doesn’t. She kisses him, and he tenses unmoving. Before she can pull back from him though, he pulls her close, and kisses her back. He kisses her like its their first time, because it’s their last, and she remembers the fire and passion within him. He is truly ice and fire brought together, everything she couldn’t be, and she wants so badly to hate him for it.

When she does pull back, her eyes are dry once more. “Goodbye Jon Snow.”

She turns and moves quickly towards Drogon, who positions himself for her to climb up on him with an annoyed flap of his wings.

“Dany, where are you going? You don’t have to leave, we can find a way.”

She ignores him. He’s an idiot when it comes to idealism, a sense she lost long ago. Ideals make pretty stories and noble endeavors, but ideals don’t survive real life, and they don’t survive a crown. Maybe he’ll learn that one day. She hopes so, and she hopes not.

“Dany!”

“You two are my witnesses. Let everyone know that Aegon Targaryen lives as the true heir to the throne.” She calls to Tyrion and Greyworm as she climbs on Drogon’s back.

“You leaving?” Greyworm asks, brow creasing.

“Yes. Have the Unsullied forces pull out from the city, get the Dothraki back on the ships. They don’t belong in Westeros, and neither do I?”

“Take me with you.” he asks, walking toward the dragon.

“No, you have to be here to make sure your people make it out safe.”

“My people are your people.”

She smiles at her last friend and responds in his native tongue  _ “They are, and as your queen, I am asking you to keep them safe in these foreign lands, around these foreign people who don’t look so favorably upon them.” _

_ “I understand.” _ he salutes and bows and turns away, schooling his face into its natural blank slate again.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Tyrion says.

“No.” Daenerys gives him a sharp look, she hasn’t forgotten his failures, his lies, and his lack of faith in her. “I don’t want to do this at all, but it’s the only thing I can do. And for that you should be thankful, because it’s likely the only thing that’s going to keep you alive.”

“Of course.” Tyrion steps back respectfully.

"Please don’t go.”Jon pleads one more time. And one more time Daenerys ignores him, patting Drogon to let him know she’s ready to go. The dragon takes a couple of quick steps and launches himself into the air, flapping his massive wings, and knocking more rubble to the ground.

For the first time Daenerys sees the destruction she’s wrought as Drogon flies her away from the city. Fires still burn all over, plumes of smoke rising from every direction, and ash falls from the sky like snow. Winter has come to King’s Landing and brought with it fiery death. A bell tower still stands amongst the ruins,and she can hear the echo of bells in her head.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There will be more chapters. More characters. I don't know exactly what I'm doing with this yet, but I have a vague idea. Next chapter will be Jon's pov, and will feature Arya.
> 
> Thank you for reading, i hope you look forward to more!


End file.
